The Life I Keep
by iasons
Summary: The war is over, Charles Lee is dead and all Connor wishes to do is rebuild the Brotherhood. No wild fantasies, no wild chases after strange artifacts. But when a fellow Assassin arrives at his door, Connor is reluctantly pulled into another wild pursuit. What could possibly go wrong this time? Almost everything. [Eventually Connor/OC]


"What's the world's greatest lie?... It's this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate." ― Paulo Coelho

* * *

**Manchester, New Hampshire – November 1784**

"Maria, I would like some tea please. Put the kettle on the stove," the gentlewoman said in her usual airy voice as she pulled the tips off her gloves off her fingers and pulled the glove off her hand.

Maria curtsied and bowed her head. "Yes Miss Ludlow." She made to turn and head into the kitchen when the lady of the house spoke again, ordering Maria to get her something to eat as well since it was well past time she had dinner. Maria nodded and curtsied again, trying not to huff under her breath.

_You're getting close now; just deal with her for a few more days and you'll have the information you need_, Maria thought in the back of her mind as she filled the kettle with water and placed it carefully on the stove where the fire roared in the hearth.

Maria never really enjoyed the cold. She was more accustomed to warmer, more humid weather. She rubbed her hands together and kneeled in front of the stove, trying to keep herself somewhat warm. Outside the snow swirled in the wind, shaking the windowpane a little. Maria wondered for a second if the wind was strong enough to actually break the window.

Sighing, Maria stood up and made the small meal she had been asked to make. Anne Ludlow, the woman she was currently severing, was about as interesting as a teaspoon and had the emotional range of one as well. She was an elderly woman in her late 50s with little to her name except a small fortune her son had already collected some years ago. Or at least that was what Maria was told.

She brought the food to Miss Ludlow, gently placing the plate in front of her. The lady smiled and waved Maria off with her hand, telling her to make her the cup of tea she asked for ages ago.

"Yes ma'am," was all Maria said as she walked back into the kitchen. Maria bit her cheek when her back was turned to Ludlow. How she loathed taking orders from this woman! It was always the more menial things as well; handing her a book, fetching her food, making her baths hot. Though Maria was of African heritage, she was not a slave. Perhaps it helped that she was mixed, having a slight pale complexion that made it somewhat easy moving through social circles.

The kettle whistled sharply and wrapping a dishrag around the handle, Maria carefully removed the kettle from the stove and poured Miss Ludlow her favorite cup of tea. Adding things to the tea tray such as cream, sugar, and honey, and slipping a sleeping draught Maris concocted herself into the tea, Maria placed the tray beside Miss Ludlow as she pecked at her food. The way she ate reminded Maria of a bird almost. Stepping back, Maria bowed her head.

"Was there anything else I could get you, ma'am?" she asked in a polite tone. Miss Ludlow swallowed a bit of food before speaking.

"Just some privacy please, Maria. There are some business paperwork I need to go over in my study," she answered, not bothering to look at Maria as she spoke. The latter nodded and asked if she could be excused to prepare for bed. Miss Ludlow answered with a simple nod of her head.

"Thank you, ma'am," Maria said with a bow and turned to go upstairs. The floorboards creaked under her feet and Maria wondered how long she would have to endure them. Downstairs, she Miss Ludlow slump forward, already snoring before the woman's face landed in the meat. Smiling to herself as she watched from the railing, Maria walked into the woman's private study.

For assurance, Maria closed the door behind her and made her way to the desk. Opening the drawers and rummaging their contents, she didn't find anything useful, as was the case with the other files and papers she found. The ledgers and books hardly yielded any results as well.

"_Puñeta_," Maria huffed under her breath. This woman had so much power in her inner circle! Were she in Ludlow's shoes, where would she keep precious information? Someplace hidden in plain sight more than likely. Running her hands over the edge of the desk, Maria felt a small latch behind the desk and after some yanking, the bottom of the desk popped open.

Biting her lip excitedly, Maria slid under the desk, laying on her back and carefully removed the secret compartment. It was a little heavier than Maria realized due to all the papers, but what a cache it was! Letters, maps – it was all there! Taking what would fit on her person, Maria filled her bag with the information. Silently relishing her victory, Maria quickly changed into her robes and galloped down the steps.

Miss Ludlow was still snoring into her ham, her mouth open as she drooled all over her food when Maria made it to the dining room. Grabbing a blanket from the other room, Maria draped it over Miss Ludlow and gently patted the old woman's head.

"_Buenos noches_ Miss Ludlow," Maria said in a low voice as she calmly walked out of the house. The woman would be no threat. Though not a Templar, Miss Ludlow was an ally and allies for the Templars were expendable. She would wake up disorientated, noticed she had been robbed and would blame it on Maria.

Too bad that 'Maria' didn't actually exist, and that the Templars would blame Miss Ludlow's incompetence on why she was robbed of their information. They would kick her out, possibly kill her if she knew too much (which made 'Maria' feel a little guilty) and try to find this servant named 'Maria.' But by then Margarita (known as 'Maria' to Miss Ludlow) would be miles away going over the information.

Margarita made her way to the stables, saddling a chestnut colored mare and leading her out of the stable. The wind was really starting to pick up now and Margarita had to coax the mare out, as the poor creature was a little spooked by the weather. She needed to leave now in case someone came by for a late night visit. She highly doubted that would happen, but anything was possible.

The mare calmed down after hearing Margarita's soothing words and the Assassin hoisted herself up onto the saddle, commanding the mare to take off in a trot as the manor disappeared behind them and she rode through the empty streets of Manchester out to the frontier.

* * *

It had only been a year since the American Revolution and the newly formed country seemed to be buzzing with excitement over the possibilities that seemed to be laid out in front of them. Wherever she went in the former British colony there was always some kind of talk about patriotism and how noble the men were who were leading the country. It was nice to see, Margarita guessed, but she didn't pay much mind to it. The benefits that were to be reaped weren't for her.

It had been a few days since she left Manchester and Margarita was heading a few miles north of Boston. Supposedly, the Mentor of the Assassins in America lived in a small homestead outside of Boston. Margarita was tasked with asking his help and she hoped she wouldn't leave empty-handed. Having come so far in her years of being an Assassin, the last thing she wanted was to be turned down.

Her stomach grumbled and she huffed, blowing a few hairs away from her face. She had to be close to the Homestead by now. The mare slowed down some as they walked down a steep hill towards a clear-cut path. On the left and right of Margarita were small houses and what seemed to be shops near or attached to the houses. This looked rather promising…

It was late though, so it was impractical to go knocking at the Mentor's house at this hour. Hopefully there was an inn here where she could stay the night. Margarita stopped the horse and pulled out her coin purse. Counting her money, she had enough to stay here for a few nights if she was indeed at the Davenport Homestead.

Leading the horse in a walk, Margarita held the reigns in her hands and walked down the main path, keeping an eye out for an inn. Within a few minutes she spotted it and sighing with relief, Margarita led the horse to the stables where the mare began feasting on hay. Gently patting the mare on the neck, Margarita carefully walked inside the tavern attached to the inn.

There was a man at the counter; a bit portly looking but seemed nice enough. In an effort to stay awake he had a mug of coffee and a small sugary snack. Cookies, Margarita guessed. His head perked up when Margarita opened the door and gently closed it behind her as to not wake up the other guests. Oliver, the man behind the counter, eyed Margarita curiously. She was dressed so… _curiously_ for a woman; wearing trousers and boots that came up to her kneecaps; a shirt and dark green waist coat under a dark brown coat; and she was filled to the brim with weapons it seemed. But they way she looked around the tavern, curious and a little unsure, made Oliver feel slightly at ease. She lowered her hood and, shyly almost, walked up to him.

"_Perdón_," Margarita began in a soft voice as she took money out of her coin purse. Oliver couldn't help but wonder what a Spanish woman was doing here. No, not Spanish necessarily as her complexion was too dark for that. Perhaps she was someone from one of the Spanish colonies in the Caribbean then? "Is this the Davenport Homestead?"

"Indeed it is," Oliver answered her question in a cordial tone. Margarita sighed and smiled with relief. "Were you thinking of staying with us?"

"Yes, I was. How much do I owe you per night while I stay here?" Oliver talked to her about the price of a simple, single room and Margarita found she had enough money to stay for about a month. Paying Oliver a month in advance, he seemed a little baffled at how much she had paid him.

"You intend to be staying this long?" Oliver asked, lightly scratching his head and looking at Margarita with confusion. Margarita nodded, saying she had nowhere else to go for the moment (which was true in a way). Letting out a breath, Oliver put the money away and led Margarita to the room she would be staying in. It had a lovely view of the trees and cliffs nearby.

"_Gracias_," Margarita said with a smile and placed her bag on the bed. Oliver nodded and smiled politely, leaving her to get settled in. Once his footsteps disappeared, Margarita dumped her bag open and the papers she had collected from Ludlow spilled onto the bed. Lighting the candle and placing it on the windowsill, Margarita finally looked over the information in more detail.

There were a list of contact names that were in charge of finding the Cathedral as well as the Cipher, but the Assassins had already found the latter in Colombia last summer. As far as they knew the Templars were unaware of that little fact and they had the upper hand for now.

There was a map that charted several possibilities to where the Cathedral might be and several had been crossed out already. The other possible locations dotted areas in Canada, the Southern Colonies, and a few left in the Caribbean. Margarita already knew the Cathedral wasn't located in the Caribbean so she crossed out those areas as well as the ones in southern Florida (they looked there as well).

Letting the ink dry, Margarita placed the map on the floor and picked up the list of names. From the letters she read it looked as if the Templars were trying to make a rebound. Perhaps if she was able to act quickly enough, Margarita could prevent that from happening. If she had some help of course; she was just one woman after all.

There were nine names and from their letters, seemed to be scattered all over the map that Margarita drew on earlier. If their names were listed then surely they were the key people to getting closer to finding the Cathedral.

It seemed the Templars had more information about it than the Assassins did, but at least they had the Cipher unlike their enemy. She would look over these more tomorrow to try and piece them together. For now, Margarita put all the papers away and ate the warm meal Oliver had been kind enough to bring her.

* * *

Achilles' habit of drinking tea in the morning rubbed off on Connor and this morning, he was enjoying a slow morning with a warm cup of tea. His hair was starting to become an even length again and just in time for winter. As he was about to make another pot there was a knock at the door, followed by a series of more knocking. Whoever had come to pay him a visit seemed to be impatient.

The first thing to greet Connor was the cold, then a hooded face of a young woman. He instantly recognized the small symbol on the side of her belt and wondered what a fellow Assassin would want with him. He had his hands full enough as of late.

"Connor, I presume?" she asked having to lean her head back to look at his face. Connor slowly nodded and opened the door wider, inviting the woman in. She nodded, saying a quiet thank you and lowered her hood. It was a very lovely home in her opinion. It seemed much cozier and warmer than the empty, cold house Miss Ludlow lived in.

"What is your name?" Connor asked as he stood next to the woman as she still looked around, turning her head to and fro. She looked mixed to Connor; she had traces of Spanish and African heritage in her face, and also some Native as well. Her dark auburn hair was tied in a side braid that fell over her right shoulder and she wore a beaded headband around her head like a diadem. A few loose hairs decorated the sides of her face.

"Margarita Torres," she answered in a simple voice, turning to look at him. "I'm with the Brotherhood in the Caribbean."

"I figured as much," Connor said as point to his own hip, mimicking where the symbol was on her belt. Margarita looked down and softly chuckled. Yeah, that… that made sense. "What can I do for you?"

Margarita reached into her bag and pulled out a small leather envelope. Drumming her fingers against it, she thought a moment. "Well, I guess the only way to say this is is that I have a proposition for you. You're the Mentor of the Assassins here in America, _correcto_?"

Mentor? Connor personally didn't see himself in that light, but he assumed he filled that role by de facto after Achilles passed and as he started building up the Brotherhood more.

"I suppose I am if everyone thinks that," Connor said in a plain voice, a slight questioning in his tone. Margarita furrowed her brows and looked at Connor with confusion.

"Sorry, am I to believe you are _not _the Mentor of the Assassins in America?" she pointed a finger to him; the confusion and disappointment clear in her brown eyes. Leaning her head to the side, Margarita sighed and rubbed her temple. Abey was not going to be pleased to hear this.

"I am sorry if you were expecting-" Connor began but Margarita held up a hand that made him stop midsentence. The confusion on her face was gone, but Mentor or not, Connor could still help her. He was a very capable Assassin from what she had heard. And she could use the help at this point.

"Regardless, perhaps you can still help me. Here, take a look at these," Margarita handed Connor the leather envelope. He opened it as his curiosity peaked as to what the contents were inside. The first thing to catch his attention was the map, with various locations crossed out.

"Some of these markings are more recent than the others," Connor thought aloud.

"Last night I had a chance to go over this map," Margarita began, "To put it simply, the Templars are after another piece of valuable information called the Cathedral. It's a sanctuary of some kind that operates a device known as the Cipher. Now, the Cipher, according to the information we gathered, allows people to travel back in time. Supposedly, but that piece of information has been disputed."

While she spoke, Connor looked over the other pieces of information. Time travel? How ridiculous that sounded to his ears. The list of names and their corresponding letters with one another had Connor's interest more, but he wasn't sure if this was something he wanted to pursue. He wanted to focus on rebuilding, growing the Assassins. The sound of a wild goose chase disinterested him.

"Why have you come to me with this information?" Connor asked as he stepped into the study where Margarita had made herself comfortable by sitting near the fire and warming her hands and face.

"Because our leads in the Caribbean turned up nothing. Our leads here have us to believe that the Cathedral is somewhere here in America or Canada. We looked all over Florida and the South and found nothing. So, we're led to believe the Cathedral can be found here."

"And the Cipher you mentioned?"

"We found it in Colombia this past summer. We're unable to figure out how it works exactly, nor have we been able to activate it. We've kept it under a very low reputation that we've found it. Our goal is to keep the Templars running a little while longer while we try and find the Cathedral."

Connor nodded and listened intently. This was very good to hear, knowing how well the Brotherhood was doing and making strides in other parts of the world. Connor sat across from Margarita and handed her the papers.

"You still have not answered my question as to why you have sought my help," Connor added, prodding the fire a little. Margarita sighed and looked into the fire.

"You know these lands better than most, don't you? Not to mention your work in how you weakened the Templars here in America. You seem like the most practical choice in helping me find the Cathedral. You were personally recommended by my Mentor." She gave him a sideways glance and half smiled. Connor's ears warmed at the praise.

"I am flattered that you have sought my help, but, I am afraid I cannot help you." Connor turned to Margarita who looked at him with disbelief. She huffed and crossed her arms. She didn't need to say she wanted an explanation as her face said it for her.

Connor explained his reservations in the most polite way possible; saying how he was more focused on other pursuits and knew of others who would be willing to help. Margarita rolled her eyes and huffed and puffed while he spoke. Personally, she didn't really believe him nor did she want his recruits' help. Pulling her hood up and practically jumping out of her seat, Margarita walked in long strides towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Connor asked as he followed her to the door. Was she really that upset over not receiving his help? It seemed rather childish for a full-grown woman. And unprofessional for an Assassin.

"I intend to wait you out," Margarita said in a plain voice. "I was given specific orders to seek _your_ help, not your recruits or anyone else's. I'm a patient woman so in case you change your mind, I'll be at the inn if you wish to talk." She practically stamped down the steps as she spoke. "Good day to you, _Señor_!" she waved her hand at him with her back turned.

Connor watched her go in disbelief. Did that seriously just happen? As if on cue, his newest recruit Patience walked towards him and her eyes met Margarita's retreating figure.

"Did I miss something?" she asked as she raised a brow.

"I will… explain later," Connor replied exasperatedly.


End file.
